A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I had a lot of library books to plough through. Libraries are for me like a buffet and I always take more than I can read. :) On top of that the Christmas season has kept me busy shopping and decorating, etc. . . .

. . . . . .

News

Upon entering the townhouse Joly immediately prescribed for his charges hot baths. The men of course insisted that Éponine use it first. She was ushered into the hands of Joséphine who clucked her tongue at the sight of her. After the wet clothes were peeled off, Joséphine wrapped her up in a clean linen sheet and ordered to stay in her room, for heaven's sake.

Joséphine clucked her tongue again as she set a large kettle on the lit range.

"It isn't right that that kind of girl is here under the roof with two unattached men—"

"Three," Anatole added with a wink.

Joséphine rolled her eyes. "You don't count, old man."

"Old man? I'm seven and forty—"

"Old."

"Well then, on that point at two and forty you're no spring chicken either, my dear."

Joséphine sniffed disdainfully. "I know that. And I'm proud of it. I wear it as a badge of courage. Since when did getting old become such an awful thing? The way things are nowadays it's a blessing we're still alive."

"Indeed," Anatole said, a solemn note creeping into his voice.

"But, I've strayed from my point, which is that this is the strangest little household we find ourselves in, Anatole."

"It isn't our business what kind of household it is, 'Phine, only to serve."

"But, the scandal it might bring to our young master, not to mention the danger; that tall young man—"

"Hold your tongue!"

Joséphine blustered, but grudgingly submitted, but not without one more say. "Fine, I will say no more on the matter, but mark my words, Anatole, nothing good will come of it!"

. . . . . .

With a sigh Éponine sank into the metal tub. As Joséphine had ascended the stairs with the kettle she had been stopped at the landing by Enjolras, who bid her stay with Éponine. She nodded, but had no intention of complying. That is, until the sight of the shivering, miserable Éponine stirred an odd flash of pity in her heart. She insisted on staying and giving the child a good scrubbing.

Joséphine was not a cold-hearted woman, but, having been in service all her life to the Joly family, had very strict views on the class system and was fiercely protective of the family. The Joly family was of the upper middle class with some attachments to the nobility and they had deigned to take in a small lonely orphan, later known as Joséphine, as scullery maid. No references, no questions, all compassion. They gave her a comfortable bed; three satisfactory meals a day and steady occupation to keep her from idleness; not to mention the friends she found among the other servants, who looked after each other as a real family would.

"You really don't have to, Joséphine." Éponine's voice broke through the maidservant's thoughts.

"You look like you barely have the strength to hold a cake of soap, much less scrub yourself. So, hush."

Éponine was indeed to tired to argue and let Joséphine have her way.

When the ablutions were over Joséphine helped her into a clean shift and wrapped her in a dressing gown. Éponine was in the middle of thanking her when a hearty sneeze interrupted her gratitude.

"Oh, no. You best get yourself into bed, child," Joséphine commanded. "I'll bring up a tray of bread and broth when I've done getting that Monsieur Enjolras' bath prepared."

Joséphine opened the casement and heaved the bathwater out of the window, narrowly missing a loitering gamin. A string of colorful curses followed.

"Close your filthy little mouth, little man. It's a pity I missed you, you look like you could do with a bit of bathwater."

Éponine's ears perked up at the saucy retort from the gamin. She recognized that voice. Éponine grabbed the casement window panes as Joséphine attempted to close them and stuck her head out of the window.

"Maurice!"

The gamin's all too large pale eyes widened. "Is that you, 'Ponine? Wow! You landed yourself in the honey pot, eh? Are you on a job?"

Éponine ignored the scandalized cough from the maidservant behind her.

"No!" Éponine said with a vehement shake of her head.

"Oh. Have you seen Gavroche lately?"

"You haven't?"

"Last time I saw him he was headin' for the barricades with those bourgeois students."

Éponine gripped the windowsill. Come to think of it, she had not seen him since either. She thought she caught a glimpse of him at the barricades, she was not sure. She had been distracted.

"Come inside and have a bite to eat and tell me more news."

"Sure! Much obliged!"

Joséphine, who had been listening to this exchange with growing horror, finally interrupted.

"Oh, no he is not! We ain't running a charity kitchen!"

Éponine turned on her with a sudden fierceness. "If you don't let him in, I will go outside to talk to him in this dressing gown."

"You wouldn't!"

"I would."

"But—but the neighbors . . ."

Éponine ran to the door. She knew Joséphine would not dare to lay a hand on her now that she was an official guest.

"Fine," the maidservant sighed. "Ten minutes."

"Twenty."

Éponine could almost hear Joséphine grinding her teeth. "Twenty."

. . . . . .

Éponine sat across from the ten-year old at the long worktable, watching him in nervous anticipation as he gobbled down a bowl of lentil stew and a hunk of bread.

"Thanks again, 'Ponine. I can't stay long, though. Peré's finally found a job and wants us to return home as soon as possible tonight. He's the new gravedigger at the Montparnasse cemetery. Seems the last one kicked the bucket and he gets to bury 'im. He says if I'm extra good he'll let me help next time!"

"Mon Dieu . . ." Joséphine muttered, crossing herself. Then with a swift movement she removed the kettle from the range and left the kitchen to fill the tub for Enjolras' bath. Anatole was not nearly so scandalized and even laughed.

"Speaking of fathers, yours is looking for you," Maurice said through a hunk of bread.

Éponine let out a derisive snort. "I'm sure he is. Thanks for letting me know, but I'm not worried, I can handle my father. Tell me again, when did you last see Gavroche . . . ?"

"I saw him going with the Professor and his lot to the barricades . . ." The 'professor' was what the gamins called Enjolras.

Éponine rose from the bench. "I'll ask Enjolras . . ." she muttered.

"The Professor's here?"

Éponine could almost kick herself. No doubt Maurice was trustworthy, most of Gavroche's comrades were, but nonetheless . . . "In that case," Maurice broke into her thoughts, "I've got news for him."

. . . . . .

Enjolras breathed in the steam rising from the hot water and slowly exhaled. A warm rag lay on his eyes, gradually easing the ache that had been forming behind them. He willed himself to think of nothing at all, or to at least slow his racing thoughts. He absently rolled the cake of soap in his hands, turning the water opaque and milky.

He could not stay here under the protection of Joly forever. He had a feeling that Joly was coming to a point with Musichetta that he was either going to propose or get her with child, hopefully the former first. He had to have a plan. Self-slaughter was definitely out. That such a cowardly notion ever entered his head shamed him. He would not entertain flight to Britain or America; he could not abandon France. His father had many connections he could contact, but he dared not risk involving them, not unless he was very desperate, and as of yet that time had not come.

And Éponine . . .

What of Éponine?

"Monsieur Enjolras!" the woman in question suddenly burst into his room. In his surprise the soap went flying from his hand and he dove under the milky water until it lapped his chin.

"Good God, Madam! What are you doing in here? Have you lost your mind? Have you no sense of—"

"Oh, never mind that—there's an inspector on your tail!"